


A Scarred Man with Nimble Fingers

by maqcy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Dresses, F/M, Lord, Self-Esteem Issues, Sex, War, beautiful people - Freeform, tipsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-04-01
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:31:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6427711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lord Keenan's cousin felt like the war had isolated Keenan too much so he gave Keenan a beautiful present in a blue dress. What Keenan needed more than a lover, though, was someone to listen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Scarred Man with Nimble Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> *This is an original work, belonging to me. If you want to use the characters please message me*

"What do you want, Lord Keenan?" The woman purred. Strands of her coppery hair slipped out of the complicated, coiled arrangement atop her head as she slid forwards like a cat. She straddled his hips and pushed him flat, "Just tell me." Her index finger stretched out to trace his parted lips, brushing past the puckered scar that disfigured the left side of his face from his forehead, cutting through his eyebrow, to his upper lip. If anything, the ridged line made him more striking, his red mouth skewed into a cold sneer and his eyes sharp and dark. Her cheeks flushed with a pale pink tinge and her hands shook, slightly clammy, as they cupped his jaw and she kissed him, teasing him gently.

Keenan drew in a long, shuddering breath and tried to think properly but his thoughts felt less his own and more scattered to the wind than ever. He put a hand to her shoulder and pushed her away, sitting up slowly. The alcohol confused him and as she crawled over to settle to next to him on the edge of the bed, he saw the hurt look on her pretty, painted face and he couldn't remember why he'd pushed her away. 

She must have seen his expression as she smiled and leant towards him to press her lips against his again. Keenan felt their softness as they moved against his but he couldn't make his own respond. He pulled back and stood, moving over to the window to look out over the black, oily moat and the maze of make shift shelters, the dark canvas tents of the soldiers like shadowed ribs of a dragon all in a line, with the clustered, pale command tents as it's head and the fire by the door of the largest; a burning eye. The night sky was stunning and the room he was in, though attractive, was pale in comparison. A prisoner does not admire the workmanship of his chains.

He heard the woman, he couldn't remember her name, walk over to him. She didn't try to touch him, for which he was glad,

"Something wrong, my Lord?" She asked gently,

"Yes." Keenan murmured, bracing his hands against the window sill for a moment and though he did not mean to look he could still see the bodies impaled on the stakes in the moat, their horror-twisted faces, glassy and swollen. He turned suddenly and wrapped his arm around her waist to pull her body against his. She looked startled for a moment before she melted against him with a smile, "Make me forget." He ordered leaning in hungrily to trap her lips with his, "Make me forget it all." He mumbled between kisses.

"Yes, my Lord." She arched her back, feeling his fingers on her back as he freed the lacy ties holding her dress together with hungry fingers, his kisses becoming more desperate. Her dress slipped down to her bare ankles and she giggled in delight as he scooped her up into his arms and, without his lips leaving hers, dropped her on the bed and followed her down. 

The woman woke in the morning to find Keenan gone from the plush bed. She sat up slowly and looked over to see the dawn hurrying in through the window, rays of sunlight casting boxes of light on the stone floor like shadows of the daytime. She wormed out from under the warm blankets and began pulling on last night's crumpled dress, struggling with the tricky lace. She'd been given the alluring pale blue dress as part of the payment by Keenan's cousin and this was the first time she'd worn it. It had been quick enough to remove, she remembered vaguely, but she struggled now to reach behind her to get it done up again. She was about to take it off again to try to untangle the mess she'd made of the ties, the knots jamming in the narrow eyelets, when Keenan spoke suddenly from the other side of the room,

"Let me help." He stood up from where he'd been leaning against the tapestry hanging on the wall and she jumped,

"My Lord!" She stuttered in surprise, "Good morning." He didn't reply, seeming in a dull, dark mood in contrast with the morning brilliance. She told herself that now that it was day she had no obligation to please the young man. But neither did he to help her with her dress. He could have shoved her, naked, out of the door once he'd taken her, as men had done before, but he'd let her sleep in his bed and was now threading up her dress with nimble fingers.

Keenan's cousin was a soft, stupid man, most would agree, but Keenan had to admit he had good taste in women and the young woman he had spent the night with was not diminished by day. He kept looking at her as he finished with her dress and draped her shawl around her shoulders before guiding her out gently, pausing at the door with his hand still resting on her upper arm. He took it away,

"I suppose Parlo will have paid you?" He enquired, speaking of his cousin. The woman nodded,

"Yes my Lord." She said, meeting his gaze.

He brushed a finger over her cheek,

"You are very beautiful, you know." He said solemnly and she blushed. She was used to drunken comments about her bust or her legs that could be just as easily considered insulting and lecherous as complimentary, not kind words delivered solemnly the morning after. She shook her head but said, smiling,

"Thank you my Lord," as she was supposed to. One of the only good pieces of advice her mother had given her was to agree with the men that paid you, "As are you." It was true, but Lord Keenan seemed taken aback. Then he scowled,

"You needn't lie." He said roughly and shut the door in her face.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a little more I did on this that goes into the war and involves some mentally and physically hurt!Keenan but I haven't written much and felt like this was a more self-contained piece as it is. But...if anybody has a prompt for what they'd like to happen next, then let me know and I'll ponder thoughtfully. Kudos and comments appreciated!


End file.
